An open letter to England: We’re breaking up

Dear, England

I think it's time we had a chat. Yes, I'm afraid we need to have a little "relationship talk." Alas, these conversations are never pleasant.

We’re breaking up with you, England. We’ve had enough. The magic is just gone.

You were the first soccer love. All those years ago, there you were, showing us the way in those little shorts and big, choppy kicks forward. Yes, it was insipid Route One football, and yes you were something less than elegant on the muddy pitches. But we learned so much watching the giants of the venerable English game. We learned about the passion from the terraces and all the old school soccer terms from voices of the ages. We even feared and loathed the hooligans together, all from the 60-minute mash-up matches shown across the pond here on Public TV – God bless Mario Machado and All-Star Soccer.

That was before the money-motivated Premier League, when things may have started going south. You got "class," like Sly Stallone in Rocky II – but you never learned to wear it well. And now, I've about had it with English self-importance, your sense of entitlement.

The WAGs stroke your egos, the agents stack your wallets and David Beckham makes you look pretty – but where is the payoff, man?

Your players are overpaid and arrogant. Ashley Cole once had a jolly good go at his former club for insulting him with a contract offer of about £55,000 a week. Frankly, I have no idea what that means in US green, but I’m sure it’s a lot!

Your World Cup team is a mess! People have passed kidney stones with more grace than you are passing the ball right now. But it’s more than the South African shutdown.

It’s not even just your senior team. In the business, all sorts of stories of unattractive efforts of self-importance have been circulating. I’ve heard reports of Under-20 tourneys and even Women’s World Cups where the English contingent spends weeks "big-timing" everyone. It’s not the people, per se, it's the collective mentality. "We're better than you. We invented the game. We are the F.A. … Screw you!"

Now, you’ve become of a caricature of what you think you are. For the love of Bobby Charlton, you’ve got David Beckham sitting on your bench. Why? That’s just goofy. He’s no coach … he’s said so himself in the past.

What about Wayne Rooney? He’s stomped on more balls than he’s kicked in at a World Cup. Ask Ricardo Carvalho, whose very manhood was once on the business end of some very naughty stuff from lil’ Wayne.

Now Rooney is all PO'ed, lashing out at supporters. Yo, Wayne. It's a long way over here. These fans didn’t get their way paid. They don't have the myriad support elements that you enjoy. By the way, what time is your message this afternoon?

And what about your coach? An Italian, for pity’s sake! Fabio, you’re getting $10 million a year! That’s a lot of fast cars, gizmos and $5,000 glasses. That’s like Johnny Depp money. And the best you can do is a pair of draws against nations that didn’t invent the game?

And let’s face it, England, you've let yourself go a little. It happens sometimes in these relationships. Someone gets complacent, gets a little flabby around the middle and wears their, uh, "comfortable," clothes a little too often around the house. Even your goalkeeping isn’t what it used to be.

Aren’t you the land that where Gordon Banks, Peter Shilton and David Seaman once stood sentinel for extended periods? (Banks and Shilton were class. Seaman got the job done all right, even if was rockin’ that pro wrestler cut that made everyone so uncomfortable.)

Now, the best you can give us is a clumsy combo Robert "Butterfingers" Green-David "Calamity" James combo?

England, I love you. But you're perennially over-hyped and over-valued. I've had it with you. Just go away for now. We'll see you when the Premier League starts up again late this summer.

Alas, this is it England. We’re moving on. We’re "getting younger at that position," as the saying goes. There are much sexier options out there, and we deserve to be happy. If you see me winking at Spain or Holland, do try not to be too hurt.

You’ll find another. But you must do better. Get yourself together! Shape up! Get a coach who doesn’t look like Mr. Magoo and isn’t in denial about his team.

It’s been real, England … even if it wasn’t always real fun.

Cheerio, then, guv’nuhs.

Steve